Challenge Accepted
by Amplesound
Summary: Will Graham is incarcerated and awaiting a trial that could end badly. No one has the balls or the incentive to dig a little deeper - save one. He turns to Doctor Samantha Mitchell, a long time friend of Alana Bloom's, to do the dirty job of digging into the mind of Hannibal Lecter to draw out that which he hides so well. Can she do it? A one-shot BOOM.


**Challenge Accepted**

"He's a monster,"

"I know, you've told me this before, Will,"

"Do you believe me?"

"Yes,"

"Then do something! Please! I need…I need your help,"

"I am helping you. But I can't storm in there; guns blazing and just take him out. The important members of the FBI think he's innocent, so chances are I'll land up where you are and then where will you be? Still behind bars – bored but safe. I'm not crazy; I'll go straight to hell via lethal injection,"

"I face a trial in three weeks – If I lose, I'll be on death row,"

"Ah, well that changes things. Well if you get a good lawyer, you'll be able to fool around in court for a couple more weeks while I sort things out."

"Will that be enough time?"

Will Graham was dulled by the room; such a bright character he was, so very special, it was sad. Fragile in soul, heart and mind but Doctor Samantha Mitchell knew full well that if Will Graham wanted to be angry and relentless, he was more than capable of doing so. But he was pampered by his peers, it made him seem even more fragile, more delicate than the first rose of October.

But his rage showed when he spoke of this man Hannibal Lecter. If and when he got out there was sure to be one hell of a reckoning and Doctor Mitchell (despite knowing she was not that familiar with Doctor Lecter) wasn't sure if even the great psychiatrist was capable of withstanding a falsely accused, caged man's wrath.

On the subject of death, however, Will did what all men would do under the circumstances; he sagged. He knew only too well that he was in a hole: if he pleaded insanity, he would be caged forever and if not – well, lucky him. But he'd never stand a chance of proving Lecter's felony…ever. But if he chose to stand by what he said and continue to blame Lecter and undergo trial in order to prove his innocence, the chances of his winning were slim and only his demise would follow.

Doctor Alana Bloom was useless; caring, devoted and an overall wonderful person, but she was as confused and misguided as the rest of them.

Doctor Samantha Mitchell had stumbled upon the case of Will Graham by chance during a session with a patient who had become obsessed with the grizzly crimes Graham was convicted of, who had become obsessed with idea of Will Graham as a whole. Who was he? What was he like? What drove him mad? What? Where? Who? How? Everything and Mitchell could offer no words of insight for she knew nothing of it. So when her patient left, she hopped straight to it; finding out everything she could. It wasn't long before it came to her attention that one Doctor Bloom was involved in it all and that she knew Doctor Bloom from way back when.

So she called Doctor Bloom, who was just as surprised as Doctor Mitchell was to discover each other again, and organised a meeting which further lead to the meeting of Doctor Hannibal Lecter – an intriguing, charming character yet he was disconcertingly detached – which then further lead to the organising of a visit to Baltimore state prison where Will Graham was incarcerated.

She had chatted to him and he too was detached, weary of all those who pried into his brain, discarding Chilten's attempts to "help" him with a smirk and a comparison to a "freshman fumbling around with his first panty girdle".

Once he had warmed up to Sam, he fell into a long description of Hannibal Lecter and what he did to him and how, was in his head. How he was a monster, how he was eating his victims, how he had framed Will when the investigations were steering too close towards the discovery of Hannibal Lecter's being the Chesapeak Ripper.

It was an incredible account of things, so much so that Doctor Mitchell thanked Will profusely for his story and got up to leave with the words "I will find the truth for you" whispered between the bars.

She had found out the truth because, as it turned out, Lecter had taken a liking to her and was willing to have her pry into personal life and accounts of past patience and history. She never once mentioned Will Graham so she was surprised to find that Lecter never mentioned him either despite how upset he claimed to be over the downward spiral of his friend; clue one.

Clue two was the dig into Abigail Hobb's sudden disappearance and her ear appearing in Will's kitchen sink. Hannibal had grown attached to Abigail, like a father – the daughter he never had – _that_ he spoke of to no end, as if betrayed. When things started going pear shaped and Abigail started questioning Hannibal on his motives; having had so many secrets together added to the pressure and Hannibal was beginning to be edged into a corner. At the same time Will was starting to have more severe attacks, it just so happened that Abigail was never seen again, the last person to have seen her was Will and so on and so forth. It seemed viable that Graham was responsible but Hannibal had left something out: Incentive. Will had no incentive to murder Abigail, if anything – and it was clear to everyone, apparently – he would have been upset and nothing more.

But if they had secrets together, that meant Will would already have known about Abigail's involvement and therefore why not be rid of her sooner? It seemed like they were on the verge of a breakthrough; Crawford was knocking on the door of the truth and Hannibal would be out-ed if that door opened so all of a sudden, Abigail was gone and Will was conveniently convicted of a crime he would never be able to explain because he couldn't remember.

Clue three happened when Alana Bloom, Head of Behavioural Science's Jack Crawford, herself and many other people of status were invited to Lecter's house for a marvellous dinner…just because. The books in Doctor Lecter's castle-like bookshelf drew Sam's attention away from the carefree atmosphere; there was a book on human anatomy, heavily book marked and poking around in its index, a lot of it was bookmarked on pages that one might use in a recipe should it have been an animal part i.e. heart and liver and tongue and so on.

The book above was a book called 'The Carib People of the Lesser Antilles'. An in depth history of Cannibalistic tribes and their rituals which she may well have written off as a strange fascination for she herself found the scripture quite, quite fascinating if only it wasn't for the knowledge that she was trying to find the truth behind Will's claims. This particular book placed just above a book of human anatomy, just above a book of recipes – low and behold – didn't help Hannibal in his long walk to freedom.

It seemed foolish to be so obvious.

Clue four was the recipe spinner on the counter top which Hannibal frequently flipped through. It had been decided upon by many that this was a menu roll. That was until Sam decided to take a closer look at it when Hannibal left the room – they were business cards. Some of which were people Hannibal had mentioned in passing as being a little rude and unbecoming.

Upon all of this in one massive discovery; she decided that from that night on, she would forever be vegetarian but she would have to endure one more night of eating that which she feared to be someone else, God forbid, someone she knew.

Clue five almost made her spit out her food for Hannibal made a particularly crude remark which was impeccably disguised as innocent if one didn't get the innuendo behind it; a very good cannibal pun it was.

Yes, Doctor Samantha Mitchell had worked it all out by the end of that same night.

She was smart, one of the best psychiatrists in the country alongside none other than Hannibal Lecter, so they were a good match for conversation – conversation which even Doctor Bloom found herself a little lost in – one could only imagine the war that would rage on should these two intelligent minds clash in a conflict of interest. A head on collision, a battle of wit and spite although, it seemed that this was the direction they were heading in. What Mitchell had discovered was not enough to convince the FBI that Lecter, not Will was the guilty one, but it was enough to start attempting to manipulate Hannibal Lecter into making a mistake and therefore force himself into a corner in which there was no one to put the blame on but himself. Suicide…in essence.

So, back to the beginning, Sam sat outside the bars of Will Graham's cage with her legs elegantly crossed and her hands resting in her lap in a manner that said class without judgement.

"Doctor Mitchell, will that…be enough time?"

"For me to get Lecter to fold?"

She inhaled, considering her answer carefully, was it enough? Did she have the mind? Would she be able to challenge Lecter? Would he even consider her as a challenging opponent? Then again, it would be better if he didn't, that way she wouldn't have to deal with trying to act naïve when Lecter would know full well she was anything but,

"Yes. It will be enough time."

Graham looked her up and down, regarding her wearily, weighing the pros and cons of putting his faith in the likes of her. Sam looked him dead in the eye, unflinching.

Eventually he nodded submissively, turning away from her to look at the wall – to see whatever it was that was waiting for him there.

"Very well, Doctor. As quick as you can,"

Sam rose, flattening her trousers over her legs and straightening her jacket over her smart, white, linen shirt,

"Professor Graham,"

And she left him knowing that he had turned in bewilderment to hear such a formality again for the first time in a long while.

Departing from the depressing building that was the Baltimore State Prison, Sam made for her car; a black mini. Ironic though it was in contrast to her demeanour, Sam had forever held a soft spot for the likes of the little car for it was the first car she had ever driven, had ever received and my, my had it gone on and on. She had many other cars since then but 12 years into her career, Sam finally felt it was time to go back to the little thing.

She climbed in and shut the door, dialling a number she was somewhat hesitant to call – uncomfortable with dragging the likes of someone she now called a friend into a battle that wasn't theirs.

"Alana? Hi, it's Sam, how are you?" *pause* "I'm grand, thank you, listen I was thinking, would you and Doctor Lecter like to go out for dinner sometime this week? Or better yet, come to yours and I'll attempt to cook a dish even Doctor Lecter would be proud of," *another pause* "Because your house is nicer than mine and I get the feeling he'll like it there more. Ok next week, no that's fine, I'm sure…Please do, I don't have a phone number or anything to get hold of him on or…Ok, do that, yeah and I'll have a chat to him directly. Yes…Wednesday? Ehmmm…"

She bustled around her car for her work diary; the problem with mini's being so small was that they were infuriatingly good at hiding things in plain sight. She did find it though and flipped through the pages to the following Wednesday evening: No patience.

"All clear…Yeah sounds good. I'll look forward to seeing you then… Say again?...Ah right, no-no, I just think the good Doctor should have someone cook for him just once, don't you think?"

She laughed as Alana did on the other line, though Sam's was as fake as fake could be – the truth being there was no way in which Sam would dare eat another Hannibal Lecter meal with a lingering fear that what she was eating was not coacher, for lack of a better word and there was no way she was going to give Hannibal Lecter her house address for if the worst should suddenly happen, she would have nowhere to escape.

"Ok, Alana thanks, I'll talk to you again…Yeah…oh, he is, fantastic! I'll probably talk to him in a few, then! Ok, bye,"

She put the phone on speaker in her car, awaiting the call from Doctor Lecter to whom Alana had passed on Sam's number. According to Doctor Bloom, Lecter was notoriously quick with responses, be they face to face or phone.

She felt a twang of guilt for abusing Alana, using her as a buffer but she had quickly become aware of Lecter's lingering glances at Alana when she had first met them all.

He was obviously attracted to her in one way or another and therefore having her around would act as a cause for calm and indirect attacks. He wouldn't dare risk his relationship with Bloom by doing something stupid in angst towards Sam. The trick was to get them both comfortable enough not to suspect a thing.

No sooner had she pulled out on to the main road to begin her drive home, than did her phone ring; an unknown number and she could only assume it was the bane of her career.

"Hello, Doctor Mitchell," she answered,

"Hello, Doctor Mitchell,"

The voice on the other side was husky and thickly accented with a Scandinavian twang. It could only be,

"Doctor Lecter, I must say I'm impressed. Doctor Bloom informed of your ridiculously quick responses. You lived up to expectations,"

"Thank you; I do my best to impress all. You sound as if you are on the move?"

"Driving home so do excuse any ill-timed pauses,"

"Ah, would you like me to call you back later this evening. Perhaps you can leave me your home phone number or I can leave you mine and we can talk then,"

"No, no, I'd like to talk to you now, if you don't mind. It's a long boring drive. Nice to have some company even if it is just the phone,"

"Very well as long as I do not cause a temporary lapse of judgment and have you in hospital by this evening,"

"I – think we'll be fine, the road's pretty quiet,"

"Where are you driving back from, Doctor Mitchell?"

"Parent meeting with one of my patience," she lied.

"Ah, successful?"

"Conclusive, I wouldn't say successful," viable.

"As many of these things are,"

She frowned, sounded like he bought it but then again…did he?

"Indeed. Anyway, Doctor, did Alana bring up the dinner I'm inviting her and yourself too?"

"She did and what a nice gesture it is. But please, do not feel the need to pay me back to the dinner's I serve you. I enjoy cooking,"

"Exotic things too," Sam scorned the word 'exotic', "Not to worry, Doctor, your dinners are yours. I enjoy cooking too, on the contrary. But if you would prefer a restaurant, then I am more than happy to oblige,"

"I've always believed home cooked meals are far more worthy of the spirit than the plain and simple gesture of paying for someone else's food that is cooked by a nameless face,"

"Even if it tastes like it came from the horses stable from the farm down the road?"

Sam joked, slightly put off by the knowing chuckle on the receiving end of the line,

"Even so, Wednesday, yes?"

"Yup, next Wednesday, I believe. Alana'a house, I'll bring all the ingredients so you don't have to worry about a thing,"

"Thank you,"

"No problem, it'll be my pleasure. It was good talking to you; I'll see you next week around 7pm,"

"Glorious. One more thing, before you go: Why Alana's house?"

"Mine's a pig sty and I don't think it'll be suited to your high standards, Doctor,"

"Do I intimidate you? I hope not, I do not want to give the impression that I will judge others by their living space and not only that, for the likes of you, someone of your stature and status should not be questioned or judged at all,"

"Why, thank you and the same goes for you. No, you don't give that impression at all. I suppose, what it comes down to is that I prefer Alana's house to mine – or any one's house to mine. I always stay away from it," another lie.

"A shame,"

"It is. One day, though, I'll get some place better and I'll challenge you to a dinner party battle, sound good?"

Another disconcerting rasp of a chuckle sounded and Sam glanced at her phone as if it were the eyes of her faceless companion watching her like a hawk,

"I look forward to it. Goodbye, Doctor Mitchell,"

"Goodbye Doctor Lecter,"

And just like that, the phone line went dead. She was home not long after, hauling in her bags and computer and diaries and phone; locking the car behind her and sat down at her marble counter with impeccably white floors, a cosy living room just through the doors ahead of her and the bedroom just down the passage beyond that.

Doctor Samantha Mitchell's house was nowhere near the sort of environment she wanted to escape from.

Her eyes swooped over all her culinary equipment and came to rest on the cook book she had brought a couple of weeks back. It was filled with traditional English recipes and as she opened it, one particular recipe caught her eye: Lamb Shank.

Not exactly the epitome of five star cuisine but she wasn't cooking to impress the duo – the reason for the cooking was to have a cover for the layout of a challenge.

The days went quickly until all of a sudden, Wednesday evening was closing in on her. Sam had bought all her ingredients the day before and was on her way to Alana Bloom's house by 4.30 and arrived not too long before 5pm.

"Good evening!" Alana opened the door with a grin, mocking the courtesy that was so often displayed between strangers that didn't know of the other's status and therefore tried to live up to one that was higher than their own.

"Wassup," Sam bobbed as if she were imitating the movement which had so strangely acquired the name 'swag'. A complete paradox to the greeting that Alana had given her and it made her laugh,

"Come in, let me take that,"

"Much obliged."

Sam let Alana take her one bag full of the lamb shanks while she herself shut the door and followed Alana through to her kitchen with the vegetable bag in hand. Placing it on the table with a thud,

"By the way, Hannibal has a tendency to rock up early," Alana said matter-of-factly, pulling not one but two beers from her fridge,

"Really?" Sam inhaled with feigned nerves, "How early are we talking here?"

She narrowed her eyes and no sooner had she done so, the doorbell rang again and Alana stooped back into her fridge to retrieve a bottle of red wine and a wine glass from the cupboard before crossing the kitchen to the door, giving Sam a raised eyebrow.

Sam listened to the exchange of courtesy and turned to await the arrival of Hannibal the Cannibal, almost two hours early.

"Good Evening, Doctor Mitchell,"

"Hello, Doctor Lecter,"

"Please, call me Hannibal. Social formalities need not be a must outside of work,"

"I'm Sam, then, Hannibal," she winked but then she noticed the little box of goodies he was carrying and it took every fibre in Sam not to sigh heavily in distaste or disgust – probably both, "What's that you've got there?"

"I thought I'd contribute only a little to your dinner with something simple: Brownies. I remember you telling me how much you liked them once" he smiled humorously to which Sam could only smile back while Alana beamed away in the background – he had obviously charmed the socks off Alana.

Sam scowled inside; there was just no way of escaping this man. It was something she had told him just before any of this 'find the truth for Will Graham' business came about. She didn't think he'd remember but of course he did.

"That's very kind of you. It'll go well with my relatively simple dish which," she turned to start taking things out of the bag to prepare, "is a lovely, warm dish from the English country side; Lamb Shank. I hope you don't mind as I'm sure you've heard of it,"

"Of course, a nice change, I could make a source for you if you like?"

There was not much that could go wrong with him making a source, now was there?

"That would be lovely; you can provide the class to the country,"

Hannibal Lecter smiled as Sam began to gather chopping boards and knives, pots and sauces to prepare while Alana graciously poured a glass of wine for Lecter and gave it to him with a small smile while he, quite noticeably, took it from her in a way that required him to have a lingering hold of her hand.

Sam chopped this and boiled that with an internal eye-roll.

Alana said something about putting music on and left for a split second in which Sam seized the moment,

"So, I've always been interested in people's heads, Doctor, how did you come to be so…brilliant?"

He took a slow, surreptitious whiff of his wine, swirled it, took an expert sip, licked his lips and only then did he seek to provide Sam with an answer. She ignored the ordeal however, continuing to chop and churn.

"I worked hard. I always had a fascination with human anatomy so I decided to become a doctor. But…I lost one life too many on the operating table and chose to go further into psychiatry instead,"

"Why psychiatry?"

"Same as you, I suppose, I've always been interested in people's heads," he smiled at her, cool and collected with a dark and sinister knowledge known only to himself that what he said had some gruesome, cannibalistic reference to something he had done before…or perhaps still does.

Sam nodded, finishing her chopping and moving onto the mint which she delicately sprinkled over the lamb shanks which she had placed in an oven proof dish, which was followed by a sprinkling of garlic and the placing of two whole onions. Opening the now fully heated oven, she placed her work inside, shut it in with some roast vegetables and set the timer, leaving the Potatoes to boil gaily on their own fully content with the thought that her meal was people free. Taking a sip of her beer, she turned to continue the conversation only to find Alana had returned and Hannibal staring intently at the oven.

"Hungry?" she ventured, while Alana fiddled around in the fridge for something or other.

Hannibal looked up, amused,

"Always, I transferred my love of the human anatomy into the culinary arts – I've always found cooking therapeutic,"

Sam narrowly avoided glancing at his brownies. If ever there was a more blatant statement than that, then hell should have frozen over.

"Ah," she paused, as if considering the connection, "Never felt the same. My mood goes into my cooking: If I'm angry, the foods a mess, happy? Brilliant and so it goes,"

"Oh hell," Alana turned upon the revelation, eyes wide, mocking, "How are you feeling now?"

"Hungry enough to eat a person,"

With that, she began. She looked up and straight into Hannibal Lecter's eyes. His gaze had hardened, his mouth had opened ever so slightly and the world slowed down.

_I know and now you know it and please take note; I'm not eating your brownies._

"What will that make the food like?" and suddenly, the world sped up.

"Don't know!" Sam grinned at Alana, "I'm sure it'll be fine. I've been dying to cook this so I reckon I've put every ounce of fibre I have into making sure I do this right. Fear not!"

Alana chuckled,

"You and Hannibal should have a cook of,"

"Oh we will," There was more behind that statement than Alana would ever know. Hannibal Lecter didn't miss it though,

"Yes. Yes we will," he paused briefly, gazing at Sam with hard intent until suddenly he inhaled sharply, shaking off his ruthless need to…cannibalise, "Alana, this music, what is it?"

The sound was rough to his ears, vastly different from his Beethoven, Bach, Bram's and Chopin; drums, some horrible guitar work, however, and…Lyrics? If music were to have a voice it should only ever be opera…or so Hannibal felt.

He was rather hostile when it came to art and music and although he made a point to be courteous and open minded towards the opinions of others, the feeling of rejection never subsided: They were wrong and that was it.

"This song is Heroes and Ghosts, the music is classical acoustic and it is the Coronas. All the way from Dublin, Ireland,"

"Hardly dinner music," Sam smirked. Hannibal heard Alana swallow, the little drip as the beer shot down through her oesophagus…he could smell her too. She smelled sweet, this night. Lavender…

"What's your point?"

"I didn't realise I needed one. Give me a moment, I'll think of one…by the way do you have a potato masher…uh…thing?"

Alana handed Sam one after she had finished draining the water from the pot; beginning to mash the potatoes up promptly after.

Hannibal Lecter had always admired Doctor Samantha. She was a little older than Alana but still quite young, still involved with the quirks that came with being modern.

She was smart, though. Almost at a level that he himself was at when he was her age…perhaps, and only perhaps, a little older which meant that she could possibly be a couple of years more intelligent than he. Preposterous… and she was testing him too. How did she find out about his eating habits? Needless to say he forgot about the source he was meant to make. So did everyone else.

Where was the give away? He would have to scour his house for clues.

She had tested him, tested his ability to keep calm when pressure rose so quickly, suddenly stating that she was hungry enough to eat a person with the full intention of letting him know that she knew was mind-blowing as well as absolutely terrifying for what if Alana picked it up too – she was capable of doing so.

It would have made the going easier because all that could be done was kill them both off but the only downside was that…

Well…

Alana Bloom had always been the object of his affections. From a distance, however it was only recently, since working together more closely, that he had started getting the almost uncontrollable urge to hold her hand – just to touch her.

It was a welcome feeling in its own right for his past relationships were far from classy, the person he was then was a world away from the person that now stood in Alana Bloom's kitchen and so were the relationships. Only one thing remained the same and that need not be mentioned.

What was he to do about this Doctor Mitchell…she had undoubtedly made some plans, back up A and back up B no doubt, she was not going to be an easy conquest but he had every ounce of confidence in himself that he could have her locked up with Will within the next fort night.

All this thought drew him so far from what was happening in front of him that he barely remembered sitting down at the table with the ghastly music flowing loudly into his ears and the smell of cooked lamb in front of him.

"Yeah, but Beethoven was deaf," Sam was saying,

"And?" Alana was challenging Sam to some musical-knowledge trivial pursuit – or so it sounded.

"Well, surely that would impact on the music he wrote. How would he be able to write such beautiful music without him himself writhing in agony at the sound of it?"

"Writhing in agony?" Alana took a sip of beer, "Why would he do that?"

"He suffered from Hyperacousis, a hypersensitivity to sound."

Alana dropped her fork,

"Really? I didn't know that…"

"Yup and now you can see. My point and reasoning behind my dislike for Beethoven's music is valid."

She knew about music too…perfect. Hannibal shook his head on his final sip of wine,

"His music is beautiful to others. He clearly loved music or he wouldn't write it. Then again, that's what he did. He wrote music, he didn't listen to it…for obvious reasons,"

"Fair enough," Sam raised her bottle to him, "Suddenly I am defeated,"

"You stood no chance against Hannibal Lecter," Alana joked, turning to the cannibal, "You took your time arriving into this conversation,"

"I was far way, I apologise," he feigned guilt and he feigned it well, he knew, "Very rude,"

"Not as rude as some people I know," Alana started anew, "that man at the conference last week said some truly outrageous things, I swear I've never wanted to say to someone…'just…die!' so much in my life,"

"Uh- oh," Sam commented into her plate while cutting through her shank, "Careful now,"

She glanced up at Hannibal, who was looking at Alana in amusement,

"And someday he will,"

"Not soon enough. Hell will roast him when he does though, I'm sure,"

"Of course and add a little Fee Seasoning to add to the flavour,"

Alana laughed at Lecter's black humour and he watched her do so, a mixture of three different types of pleasure: Alana's laugh; that he fully intended to carry out her wish without her being aware of it and last but not least, that the word play did not go unnoticed by Doctor Mitchell who was now staring blankly at the black pepper bottle on the table so coincidentally labelled, 'Free Seasoning Black Pepper'.

The good doctor leaned back in his chair and the trio fell into a mixed silence.

Hannibal felt smug and accomplished, Alana seemed content and in a sleepy, alcohol induced daze whereas Sam leaned back too, swallowing her last mouthful to gaze knowingly into Hannibal's threatening maroon eyes.

Alana, however, promptly broke the silence with a sigh,

"Well," she rose, gathering the plates, "I'll get the brownies and the plates to accompany them –"

"No, Alana, wait, I'll do that," Sam suddenly jolted upright, drawing her challenging glare from Hannibal to her friend, "I cooked, I'll clean it up,"

"No," Alana replied with defiance in her tipsy tone, "You cooked, I'll clear up. I have a dishwasher, Sam; it's not going to be that hard. Relax, I gots this,"

She winked, glanced at Hannibal who smiled warmly at her and departed with a faint blush creeping up to her cheeks from her collar bones, leaving Doctor Hannibal Lecter and Doctor Samantha Mitchell to their own devices.

"So, Doctor Mitchell," Lecter started, pulling himself up from his laid back position so as to address her more directly, "tell me; you obviously know a lot more than you let on,"

"About what?"

She was looking at him from an amused face that rested on fingers that were intertwined to form a soft, resting cup for her chin.

"About a great many things, I'm sure,"

"I'm sure you do too, Doctor Lecter," her gaze was unwavering; unflinching.

Lecter felt the thrill of excitement cause through his body – his thoughts racing, could this finally be something worth his time, something that he actually needed to be careful with?

He narrowed his eyes in consideration, regarding her with admiration and a mild sense of hunger.

"Shall we compare notes?"

"No, no," she inhaled as if she were bored of the conversation, "No, you can keep all your notes to yourself, Doctor and I'll do the same. I like keeping things to myself; my thoughts and such,"

"Doesn't seem that way,"

"Yes, well…you don't know what I'm capable of Doctor,"

As he gazed at her through a complex web of possibility, he felt his own eyes widen and his pupils dilate in anticipation though his heart was steady, his composure still and collected.

"Nor you, me, Doctor Mitchell,"

He continued to look at her, resisting the urge to blink just in case he missed something, just in case he aged her reaction incorrectly.

Sam looked back as Hannibal looked on. He blinked not, but why should she be so rigid? She was human. This man, if one could call him that, was anything but. So, to spite him…she blinked and she felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

She was smiling at him, or beginning to at least. Over delicately, intertwined fingers upon which she rested her pale, little chin; she mocked him and she blinked whilst he did not.

He wanted to laugh as he was sure she did too. Her gaze dropped in thought though the smile did not leave her features; she was contemplating her next move and Hannibal Lecter was enthralled, completely intrigued, amazed that for once, he could not tell what a person was thinking.

This was going to be the ultimatum to end all ultimatums and it was one that would end in life or death. He knew…she knew. Together, this was the battle of a life time as two impossibly bright people, alike in intelligence and brain structure, clashed.

A battle of wit and spite, if one were to remember correctly.

She looked up, her eyes brighter, bigger, her smile firmly in place as Alana arrived back with his brownies,

"Ooh, seems like something big has just gone down. What is it?"


End file.
